


Hope if everybody runs (You chose to stay)

by dezemberzarin



Series: I Lived Verse [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think working in fashion has given you a skewed view of what gay guys are like,” Mario says drily. “I play football, the Victoria Secret line-up is a bit beyond me.” </p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Ann-Kathrin replies skeptically, applying her plum lipstick generously in front of the mirror. “Get back to me when you guys stop wearing tiny shorts and slapping each other’s asses. Then we can discuss the varying degrees of homoeroticism in the fashion vs. the football industry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope if everybody runs (You chose to stay)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this part took forever and there's various reasons, most of which I won't go into now, but the good news is that it's finished \o/ When I started writing this verse, this particular chapter was among the most vivid in my mind and maybe that's why I had such a hard time comitting it to paper? Suffice it to say that it sometimes felt like I was giving birth instead of writing and I'm still not entirely sure if I'm happy with the way it turned out.   
> I have to say though, the biggest motivation I could ever hope for and the main reason I kept writing even when it felt like pulling teeth was the amazing feedback I got on the last installment. I just, have no idea what to even say. I'm going to answer the comments after I publish this, but let me just say thank you now, because you seriously kept me going with the kudos and comments you left <3

“Do my boobs look weird in this dress?” 

Mario is frowning at his phone in concentration, fielding through the sea of unanswered calls and text messages. He’s spent the entire afternoon out with Ann-Kathrin and pretty much ignored anything else as the two of them flitted from store to store, delighting in the fact that their lust for acquiring new, shiny objects was evenly matched on every level. Mario has never met anyone who could keep up with his shopping marathons before, not even Marco who otherwise equals him in his hedonistic ways. It’s a rather pleasant development. 

A pair of rolled up socks hits his head and Mario startles, then glances at Ann-Kathrin who is raising an immaculately plucked eyebrow at him, still standing in front of Mario’s floor to ceiling mirror. “My boobs,” she repeats, raising her hands to tuck at the fabric of the silky dress she bought earlier. “Yay or nay? Wait.” She frowns. “Does your opinion count?” 

“I’m gay, not dead,” Mario replies, giving her the once-over. She’s stunning, of course. In the two months that they’ve known each other, Mario can’t remember a single instance in which Ann hasn’t looked absolutely gorgeous; his new friend manages to make even lounging around in sweatpants look effortless. Right now, with her freshly curled hair falling onto her bare shoulders and the new dress setting off her striking figure, Ann-Kathrin might as well have walked off the pages of a fashion magazine. 

“Kate Moss has nothing on you,” he tells her and she flashes him a grin. “God, your modeling references are so outdated, it’s adorable. Don’t they revoke your gay card for that kind of thing?” 

“I think working in fashion has given you a skewed view of what gay guys are like,” Mario says drily. “I play football, the Victoria Secret line-up is a bit beyond me.” 

“Uh huh,” Ann-Kathrin replies skeptically, applying her plum lipstick generously in front of the mirror. “Get back to me when you guys stop wearing tiny shorts and slapping each other’s asses. Then we can discuss the varying degrees of homoeroticism in the fashion vs. the football industry.” 

“Future title of your thesis?” Mario suggests and she laughs, turning around and flicking her hair over one shoulder. 

“That might be a bit on-the-nose, considering we want the public to believe the two of us are getting it on.” 

“You’d never go for me.” 

“True. Call me old-fashioned, but I can’t be with anyone whose eyebrows are prettier than mine.” She frowns at him with an intent expression.   
“Seriously, how do you _do_ that? They’re like perfectly shaped caterpillars just waiting to transform into butterflies.” 

Mario bursts into laughter, the ridiculous image she’s just drawn vivid in his mind. Her humor still catches him off-guard sometimes and it’s one of the things he likes best about her, how she can make him laugh in any situation with nothing but a pointed comment. Even at their awkward first meeting, that was one of the things which set him at ease, made him open up to her despite the fact that they were essentially strangers. 

He’s still hiccupping with laughter when his phone chimes again and he picks it up to silence it, drops it back onto the comforter of his bed. Ann-Kathrin gives him a significant look. “Loverboy?” 

“No. And don’t call him that,” Mario sighs. 

She makes a face. “Fine. If it’s not _Marco_ , who is trying so hard to get your attention? Last time I checked you only had one secret boy toy. Guy you sleep with,” she corrects herself as she catches the expression on Mario’s face. “God, you’re touchy tonight. Trouble in paradise?” 

Mario doesn’t answer and Ann-Kathrin rolls her eyes. “Let me guess. He doesn’t like that you’re taking me out tonight.” 

When Mario avoids her gaze, she scoffs. “Yes, I thought so. He does realize that even if I was interested, you’re pretty much incapable of reciprocating said interest, doesn’t he?” 

“It’s not that,” Mario says softly and she gives him an incredulous look. “It’s really not. He just-“ 

“Doesn’t like me,” Ann-Kathrin interrupts him coolly. 

Mario winces. He could protest, but they’d both know he would be lying. Marco’s dislike of Ann-Kathrin is obvious every time the two of them come face to face and for the sake of his own sanity, Mario tries to keep those occasions to a minimum. Providing a buffer between his best friend’s temper and Ann-Kathrin’s cool disdain is not his idea of a fun time. Even back when he introduced the two of them, the atmosphere between Marco and her was reserved and since then it’s only gotten worse. 

Mario isn’t entirely sure where Marco’s aversion is coming from. If he would actually try to get past the icy demeanor Ann-Kathrin adopts around him, he’d realize she’s a lot more fun than she lets on whenever the two of them are butting heads. But all of Mario’s assurances in that matter fall on deaf ears, as if Marco just can’t bring himself to like her, even with the knowledge that his antipathy leads to friction between him and Mario.

Despite realizing quite keenly that the situation is mostly Marco’s doing, Mario can’t help but try and defend his best friend. “You don’t like him either.” 

Ann-Kathrin shrugs. “I think you could do better.” 

Mario thinks of Marco, with his half-smirk and messy hair, the way he’ll crowd Mario up against the sink to kiss him in the mornings, tasting faintly of toothpaste, and smiles, can’t even help it. “You’re wrong.” 

She snorts. “I’m not talking about _that_. I have no doubt that he’s a great lay, the way you get all moony-eyed when you talk about him really speaks for itself. But when is the last time he took you out for dinner?” 

“It isn’t like that between us.” 

“Exactly.” She fixes him with a pointed look. “Whatever the two of you are doing, he’s not your boyfriend. Now, look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want him to be.” 

Mario stays silent, fiddling with the cuff of his dress shirt. He can hear her sigh and then there’s the click of her heels as she approaches, sits down on the bed next to him. The press of her bare shoulder is warm against his side.

“Listen,” she says calmly. “I’m not trying to get between the two of you. If whatever he’s giving you makes you happy, then that’s great and I won’t say another bad word about him. Even though he _is_ kind of an asshole.” She hesitates for a moment, before continuing. “But I think you want more. All I’m saying is that you deserve someone who can give that to you. Whether that’s him or someone else.” 

Mario sucks in a breath, keeps his voice carefully neutral as he answers. “I appreciate that. But I’m fine. Marco and I, we’re- it’s not what you think. We agreed on this and- I’m fine with that.” 

He knows she isn’t convinced, his words sound weak even to his own ears. But Ann-Kathrin doesn’t call him on it. “If you say so.” 

Mario knows an out when he’s being offered one and takes it gladly, along with her hand as he pulls her to her feet. “Are you ready for this?”   
She gives her reflection one last look, smiling as she tosses back her hair. “As I’ll ever be.” 

*

When he uses his spare key to let himself into Marco’s flat a few hours later it’s well past midnight and Mario winces when he realizes that the lights in the hallway and living room are already off. He hasn’t intended to stay out this late, but the opening of the club Lewy invited him to dragged on and neither Mario nor Ann-Kathrin found a convenient way to extract themselves from the lively party until half an hour ago. 

He toes off his shoes and leaves them with his coat in the hallway, creeping into the darkened living room and hesitating as he regards the closed bedroom door. For a minute he contemplates simply turning around and driving back to his parents’ place. Mario desperately needs a shower and knowing he’ll wake Marco does nothing to help ease his already guilty conscience. 

His decision is made for him when the bedroom door creaks open and Marco appears, rubbing sleep from his eyes and sporting a truly spectacular bedhead. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and Mario’s pathetic heart actually skips a beat as he takes in his best friend’s appearance, lean frame on full display, the tattoos a stark contrast against Marco’s pale skin in the dim light. 

“Mario? What time is it?” Marco’s voice is hoarse from sleep and Mario feels even worse, knowing how much Marco hates to be woken in the middle of the night. 

“Almost one. Go back to sleep, I’m gonna stay out here.” Marco has a guest bathroom, without a shower, but Mario can make do. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marco says and he’s already retreating into the bedroom again. “Come to bed, for fuck’s sake. We have training tomorrow.”   
Mario sighs and throws the couch another hesitant glance. But in the end the prospect of a mattress and a half-naked Marco wins out against his guilty conscience and he slips into the bedroom, quietly shutting the door after himself. Marco is already curled up on his side of the bed and he’s turned down the comforter on Mario’s, clearly expecting him to follow suit.

Mario showers in record time, nothing more than a quick scrub underneath scalding water. Afterwards he pulls on a cotton shirt and a pair of briefs that, judging from the snug fight around his ass, are probably Marco’s, but he can’t be bothered to change them. He tip-toes back into the bedroom as quietly as he can manage it. 

Any hope that Marco might have fallen asleep again is destroyed when his best friend immediately turns as he slips underneath the sheets, his eyes reflecting the faint street light from the windows as he regards Mario in the dark. “Fun night?” His tone is carefully neutral, but Mario can hear all the things hidden underneath, feels himself getting defensive without even meaning to. 

He tries for something light in order not to snap at Marco. “It was alright. Lewy enjoyed himself I guess, Anna had to drag him away from the crab cakes.” 

“And Ann-Kathrin?” Still that neutral tone. 

Mario suppresses a sigh. “She liked it. Lots of photographers. “

“Ah.” 

Mario hates this, how much both of them are holding back just so the conversation won’t end in another fight, the one they seemingly had half a dozen times since Ann-Kathrin entered Mario’s life. Back when he first brought the topic up, Mario was hoping against hope that Marco would object, that he’d show jealousy or even tell him outright not to go through with it. If he’s completely honest with himself, Mario has to admit that springing the matter like that on Marco right after the winter break was born as much out of his own surprise as it was out of the wish to provoke Marco into a reaction. 

It never came, of course. Mario knows that Marco’s dislike of Ann-Kathrin has little to do with actual jealousy, as much as she might think otherwise. His best friend isn’t objecting to the fact that Mario has a girlfriend, he’s merely unhappy with the choice he’s made. So much so that Mario usually avoids even mentioning Ann-Kathrin when he’s with Marco, like that could change the fact that her presence is a lingering matter of discord between them. 

“I’m sorry for being late,” he says softly, because that much is true, even when it’s really another apology burning on his tongue. For a moment he thinks Marco isn’t going to reply. But then he can feel the body next to him shift, the sudden warmth of Marco’s skin as he runs a hand underneath Mario’s shirt and strokes his belly. “It’s fine. You didn’t miss much.” 

_Just you_ , Mario thinks and all of a sudden the distance between them is too much, unbearable. Marco hums in appreciation when Mario finds the hand on his stomach and laces their fingers together, shifting until he’s in his favorite sleeping position, burrowed right against Marco’s side with his head resting on his best friend’s chest. If he concentrates, Mario can even make out Marco’s heartbeat beneath the easy rise and fall of his chest. 

Marco nuzzles against his temple and Mario raises his chin on instinct, receiving the goodnight kiss that has become a habit between them by now. Marco’s lips feel dry against his and Mario swipes his tongue over them easily, sighs in content when Marco takes that as an invitation to deepen the kiss and slide his own tongue into Mario’s mouth. Just when what started out as a chaste kiss threatens to edge into definite make-out territory, Marco pulls away and drops his head back onto the pillow, raising his hand to brush one thumb along Mario’s bottom lip. 

“It’s really late,” he murmurs and Mario can hear the regret in his voice, the implied promise of what might happen, if the two of them didn’t have to be up and getting ready for training in less than seven hours. 

He nestles closer against Marco’s side instead of a reply, relishing in the feel of his warm chest beneath his cheek. On occasions like this, Mario sometimes feels the need to pinch himself, just to make sure this isn’t all an elaborate day dream. Marco might not be his boyfriend and Ann-Kathrin might even have a point when she said he deserves something more, but wrapped up in his best friend’s arms, Mario can’t imagine finding something that would make him happier. 

*

“You’re up early.” 

Mario barely bites back the expletive that’s on the tip of his tongue and even manages not to drop the pair of shoes he – ironically – took off to make less noise as he creeps through his parents’ house. The sun hasn’t even come up yet and there is not really a reason for his mother to be awake at this early hour. But then again, Mario should not be awake either, wouldn’t _be_ as a matter of fact, if it didn’t occur to him that he left his training gear at home right before falling asleep in Marco’s arms just a few hours ago. 

His mother is regarding him with a serene expression that nearly two decades of raising three sons have gifted her with, but there’s a glint in her eyes and Mario can only guess at how much fun she’s having with this situation. 

“I was,” he starts and then pauses, wondering whether he could get away with citing insomnia and the need for fresh air. Considering his mother has known him for more than three days and is well acquainted with his love for sleep, it doesn’t seem like his best option. “Uh, Fabian needed me to-“ 

She looks at him expectantly and Mario trails off, caught in her stare. Damn. His more or less uneventful puberty in regards to sneaking out and breaking the rules his parents set for him didn’t really preparedhim for these kinds of situations. 

“Darling, you’re an abysmal liar,” his mother says, not unkindly. “And you brother is in Munich right now.” 

_Fuck_ , is all Mario manages to think and something like panic wells in his throat. What on earth can he _say_ , he wonders wildly, thirty different scenarios flitting through his head, one less plausible than the other. If she realizes he’s been at Marco’s she’s going to want to know why and that- 

“Honey, I know you and your brothers would prefer to think of me and your father as sexless beings,” his mother begins and continues even as Mario makes chopping gestures with his hands as if to ward off her words. “Nevertheless, we do realize you have a girlfriend and even though you still live at home, which, don’t get me wrong, we’re very happy about, it’s normal for you to spend a few nights at her place.” 

Mario blinks, her words finally getting through to him and then the realization hits. He left here with Ann-Kathrin last night. Ann-Kathrin who he introduced to his parents as his girlfriend and who his mother and older brother have taken an instant liking to. To his mother, the conclusion to his early-morning sneaking around is not at all clandestine and the relief that floods through him is so great it almost weakens his knees. 

Hoping his mother will attribute the flush on his face to embarrassment, Mario clears his throat. “Uhm, thanks?” 

His mother’s eyes sharpen. “You’re being safe, aren’t you?” 

_Of course_ , Mario thinks, near hysteria. _Marco always uses a condom._ But out loud he says: “God, Mom, would you just butt out? Ann isn’t my first girlfriend, I know what I’m doing.” 

His mother gives him a look that could level cities and Mario shrinks back. “Yes, alright? I’m being safe.” 

“Good,” she says brightly. “I’m still too young for grandkids. Speaking of which, you should invite Ann to your grandmother’s birthday, I’m sure everyone would like to meet her.” 

Everyone being the entirety of the Götze clan. God help him. But Mario knows better than to resist his mother in this matter. It would look odd. 

“Sure, Mom, I’ll ask her.” 

His mother beams at him. “Your grandparents will be pleased. You know how they always ask me about you boys and your love life, this way your grandmother can finally stop harassing me. You could even bring Ann when we go down to Bavaria next month! There’s really no reason to wait for a special occasion.” 

“I already told you guys, I won’t be able to come with you. We have a Saturday game and besides, Marco and I are going to Berlin to see Jay-Z that weekend,” Mario says and instantly knows the mistake he’s just made as he watches his mother’s smile fade.

“Oh,” she says and Mario can see how she’s trying not to let her disappointment show. “I’m sure that’ll be nice, darling.” 

This is the crux of the matter, Mario thinks as he gives his mother a fake smile of his own and passes her on his way to the stairs. Even if his parents would be able to get over the fact that Mario has lied to them about who he is his entire life, even if his mother would be able to forgive him for not ever having the grandchildren she claims she doesn’t want yet, even if they hadn’t instantly welcomed Ann-Kathrin as part of their family, there is still this to consider: His parents don’t like Marco. 

Oh, they’ve welcomed him cordially enough the few times Mario has brought him around and they’ve never actually said so outright, but Mario knows it’s true, can see it every time he mentions his best friend or takes a call from him in their presence. Mario can only guess at the precise reasons, but it probably revolves around them thinking that Marco isn’t good enough for Mario. His parents are mostly very kind people, but they’re incredibly snobby when it comes to education. In their minds Marco, who barely managed his graduation from the Hauptschule and whose parents are from backgrounds that don’t involve lengthy academic careers, isn’t enough of a challenge for Mario, despite the fact that they make their living in the exact same profession. 

“Mario?” 

He turns at the top of the stairs to look at his mother. “Your father wanted to talk to you later.” 

Mario frowns. “What about?” 

“I don’t know, darling, but he said it was important. I think he got a call from Volker. Hasn’t he tried to get in touch with you?” 

“Not sure,” Mario lies, guiltily thinking of all the calls he’s ignored in the last couple of days. He knows he’s being immature, but since there are very few people but himself and Volker to blame for the mess with Ann-Kathrin and the tension between him and Marco, his manager has taken the brunt of it. “I’ll talk to Dad, don’t worry.” 

“Good. Now hurry up, breakfast will be ready in ten.” 

“Fine,” he mutters, mind already on what Volker could possibly have to talk to him about. 

*

“Morning, Mario.” 

“Hey, Herr Gruber.” Mario mutters, squeezing past their groundskeeper and into the training center in an effort to avoid small talk. True to her word his mother made him breakfast and the feeble plans he entertained of getting maybe one more hour of sleep before heading out, fell through rather spectacularly. On the way here he was so close to nodding off at the wheel he actually had to turn the radio up to a blasting volume in an effort to stay awake. Mario already hates this day and it’s only bound to get worse from now on. 

“Well, someone didn’t get their beauty sleep last night. Aren’t you youngsters supposed to be used to staying up late?” Gruber calls after him and 

Mario grits his teeth, hoisting the bag on his shoulder higher as he determinedly reminds himself that nothing good will come of yelling at a man that has known Mario since he barely came up to his belt. Even if Kloppo by some miracle wouldn’t hear about it and lecture him on the importance of manners, Gruber would probably only laugh at him. There were certain disadvantages to basically growing up at a club, one of them being that no one ever took you seriously if they remembered a time when you needed help tying your own shoelaces. 

For once Mario is among the first in the locker room and he falls onto the bench with a groan, burying his face in his hands. He uses the next few minutes to doze half-heartedly, listening to the others slowly trickling in and adding to the low hum of conversation. Still, it isn’t until Kevin nearly knocks him unconscious with his obnoxiously huge bag and cackles with laughter at Mario’s pained yelp, that he actually takes his head out of his hands. 

“I fucking hate you,” he informs Kevin, who only laughs at him. 

“Keep your panties on, Mario. It was a love tap.” Kevin is already pulling off his shirt and Mario glances away, because who wants to see _that_ this early in the morning? 

His smarting head doesn’t improve his mood and Mario is tempted to push some of Kevin’s buttons just to provoke him into a confrontation that would probably result in a slap fight and the opportunity for him to let off some steam. God knows Mario has more than enough material and expertise to do it. Like so many of the other guys on the team, Kevin treats him like a little brother and Mario has plenty of experience at needling him like an annoying little brat until he blows up. 

The only downside is that neither Lewy nor Marco is here yet. And as loathe as Mario is to admit it, he rather relies on those two to be in his corner once things get a little physical. Being short comes with disadvantages and getting into it with Kevin without Marco or Lewy there to provide emergency shelter behind their ridiculously tall bodies, is probably not a great idea. 

Mario sighs and with a lack of better things to do, starts changing as well, pulling on the thermal undershirt and leggings before he slips into his long-sleeved kit. If experience has taught him anything, it’s that Kloppo will lose himself to a lecture on tactics for the game tomorrow at least twice during their session today and make them stay to sign stuff for the fans afterwards. And Mario prefers his limbs without frost bite, thank you very much.

The locker next to his slams open and Mario glances over to see Lewy, looking slightly out of breath, but so perky that Mario wants to slap him, just a little. “Dude, how are you this happy right now? You guys left after we did last night, you can’t have slept for more than six hours.” 

“More like five, actually,” Lewy grins. “Anna kept me up late.” He waggles his eyebrows and Mario snorts. “You are inhuman.” 

“Correction, I’m a guy in my twenties. Choosing sex over sleep is what we do,” Lewy says and high fives Kevin who exclaims: “Yeah, it is!” 

Mario wisely chooses not to argue with that, but Kevin still engages him, because it’s just that kind of day. “What about you? Weren’t you there as well yesterday? I could have sworn I saw you and that hot girlfriend of yours around somewhere!” 

Of course, at that exact same moment, Marco slips into the locker room and honestly, Mario is tempted to just turn around on his heels and head back home, because today? Is clearly cursed. The traitorous part of his body that isn’t impressed by Mario’s ire tightens painfully at the sight of Marco, tall and lean and practically edible in his skinny jeans and Henley. 

Marco knocks their shoulders together in greeting as he passes Mario to get to his locker, giving him the crooked half smile that Mario has grown so fond of. The sheer absurdity of having to greet Marco so casually when a few hours ago Mario was soundly asleep in his arms is not new, but it especially stings this morning. 

He pretends to rummage through his bag in search of something in order not to have to look at Kevin or watch Marco from out of the corner of his eyes as he tries to come up with an innocuous answer to Kevin’s question. “Er, yeah. We were there.” 

“Dude,” Kevin says. “If I went home with a girl that smoking hot last night, I wouldn’t pull a face like that in the morning.” 

Mario stiffens, all the alarm bells that are never entirely silent, going off in his head now. He knows he’s being silly, that Kevin is just trying to get a rise out of him, but all of a sudden the back of his neck is itching, like the eyes of every single one of his teammates are on him, wondering why Mario doesn’t seem to appreciate the girlfriend that, as Kevin just so helpfully pointed out, is new in his life and a bit out of his league. He shrugs it off, trying to relax his posture as he does so. 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, man. Six hours of sleep are not enough to function properly in the morning, not even with sex.” 

Kevin chuckles. “You are such a little princess sometimes, Götze.” 

His tone is fond and Mario slightly relaxes, rolling his eyes as he delivers a punch to Kevin’s shoulder. “And you’re a caveman, Großkreutz.” Now that the adrenaline isn’t setting every nerve in his body on edge, he realizes that apart from Marco and Lewy, not a single one of his teammates is paying them and their conversation even the slightest bit of attention. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kevin says impatiently. “I’m a Neanderthal, you don’t know how I manage to find my way back here each morning, yadda yadda yadda. But dude, seriously. How is the, you know-“ At that he makes a crude gesture and fuck, Mario wants nothing more than to shove his friend’s head into the nearest wall. He is hyper aware of Marco’s presence just meters away, probably listening with at least some degree of amusement to whatever lie Mario will have to manage to concoct in the next few seconds. 

All of a sudden Mario is so fucking pissed at this entire situation that his fingers start shaking where he’s still rifling through his bag. His head still hurts, he’s had like four hours of sleep, his mother is disappointed at his choice of best friend and everyone and their grandmother here think they have a right to comment and pry into his personal life just because he joined this team as a teenager. Mario forcefully shoves his bag into his locker and slams the door shut so loudly some of their teammates raise their heads. 

“None of your business,” he says flatly and Kevin chuckles knowingly. 

“That means you haven’t done it yet. No shame in that, kid. Sometimes you have to show the ladies a real good time before they let you sample the merchandise, know what I mean? Listen, what you do is this-“ 

“No, actually it means that I want you to shut up and fucking back off, alright?” Mario hisses, feeling the angry flush on his face and getting even more pissed off because of it. “I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, so just leave me alone.” 

Kevin looks honestly surprised at his outburst, hands raised defensively. “Whoa, dude, I didn’t-“ 

“Save it,” Mario mutters and shoves past him, well aware that this time his feeling of being watched isn’t just in his head. Lewy tries putting a hand on his shoulder, but Mario shrugs him off and keeps his head down as he crosses the locker room, not in the mood for any more heart to hearts with his teammates. 

The air out on the grounds is blessedly freezing and it cools the flush from his cheeks as he jogs out onto the pitch. By the time he’s done his first warm-up lap, Mario is thoroughly regretting his words to Kevin, knows he will probably have to apologize later. Kevin can be an overbearing idiot, but his friend is never mean spirited and it’s hardly his fault that Mario’s life is a mess right now. 

He’s pulled from his unpleasant thoughts by the sound of rapidly approaching footfalls and a second later Marco is next to him, slowing his pace to match Mario’s as they keep circling the field. It’s pathetic how quickly Mario’s residual irritation passes in his presence, his body matching the rhythm Marco is setting unconsciously and draining the last bit of tension from his muscles. Sometimes Mario wonders if other people feel this way when they’re in love, like the mere touch from that person is enough to make everything else seem insignificant in comparison. It’s not like he has anyone he can ask. 

Marco slows down until they’re both walking, stretching as they do so. They’re on the far end of the pitch and only a few of others are entering through the gates on the other end, getting ready for their own warm up. It almost feels like they’re in their own little bubble and maybe that’s why Mario feels brave enough to sidle closer to Marco until their shoulders are brushing as they’re walking along, a clear invitation that he usually doesn’t extend unless they’re in private. 

Judging by the startled glance Marco shoots at him, that isn’t lost on his best friend either. And yet, Marco doesn’t hesitate before wrapping an arm around Mario’s shoulders, pulling his head to rest in the crook of his neck for a moment. Mario loves him for it and the sheer intensity of that feeling pulls painfully at his chest, makes it hard to breathe. Marco feels so unbelievably steady against his side, tall and strong with his arm wrapped around Mario in a way that suggests it could last forever. God, Mario wishes he was a good enough liar to convince himself of that. 

They complete their lap unhurriedly and Marco keeps his arm around Mario’s shoulders the entire time, his fingers warm where they’re splayed over the Borrussia crest on Mario’s chest. Only when they’re approaching the little gathering of coaches and players at the center circle does Mario start to pull away and Marco stops him by tightening his arm, the concern in his eyes obvious when Mario looks at him. Fuck. He is the worst person on this planet. 

“Better?” Marco asks and Mario wants to laugh, because his best friend doesn’t know the half of it. 

“Yes,” he says simply, knowing he could never put into words how much strength he draws from Marco’s mere presence, let alone his affection. Even if he found the words to explain it, Mario doesn’t think he would ever be brave enough to say them out loud.

“Good.” Marco’s smile is so openly glad Mario wants to reach up and touch its corners, cover it with his mouth and kiss the breath from his best friend. He does none of those things of course, but he can’t resist pulling on Marco’s sleeve, getting him to look at Mario again. 

“Can I come over tonight?” 

Marco looks surprised and Mario doesn’t blame him. They have a game tomorrow and as a rule, they never spend the night together right before a game. The sheer physicality of their profession keeps them from engaging in anything too strenuous right before the matches and since their opportunities to be together are not that frequent to begin with, they agreed to stick to nights when such things don’t matter. But Mario can’t wait until the day after tomorrow, not with the way he’s feeling right now, confused and lonely and missing Marco even as he’s standing right next to him. 

“Please?” he says softly and Marco’s eyes widen. 

“Of course, Sunny,” he replies and because he’s Marco, adds: “You never have to ask.” in such a decisive manner that Mario has to smile despite himself. 

Their teammates are in hearing distance by now and so Mario only mutters a quiet “Thanks.” as he slides out from under Marco’s arm, joining them. 

Kevin approaches him with what is definitely a gauging expression and Mario raises a hand before he can say anything. “I’m sorry, man. I should not be allowed to socialize on less than six hours of sleep.” 

“Yeah, I am, too,” Kevin says, punching Mario’s shoulder with a grin. “I know what you’re like in the mornings. Next time I’ll save my awesome sex advice for when we’re out celebrating.” 

“Oh joy, I can’t wait,” Mario deadpans and Kevin pulls him close to give him a painful, but ultimately well natured noogie. 

The rest of their workday continues as expected. Kloppo actually interrupts their exercising three times and Mario smugly pulls the sleeves of his thermal shirt over his fingers as their coach repeatedly expands on the importance of teamwork and motivation, watching his less experienced teammates rub their hands together and shift from foot to foot as they listen to their coach explain why a fifteen point gap in between them and Bayern is not a reason to slack off. 

Mario drifts off, but snaps to attention for the important parts, which is easily done after nearly three years with this particular team and coach. He knows Kloppo, knows what is expected of him and knows that he can easily fulfill his role. It’s comforting in its familiarity, but also a little tiring in its predictability on days like these and by early afternoon he’s glad they’re being let go for recuperation before the match tomorrow. 

On the drive home he calls Ann and asks her to provide cover for him once again, in case his parents question his whereabouts tonight. 

“I hope I’m getting at least some decent sex out of this, as much as you’re distracting me from my studies lately,” She notes wryly and Mario has to grin as he thinks about Kevin’s remark. 

“Actually, we haven’t slept together yet.” 

“Ugh, you’re a horrible boyfriend.” 

*

Half an hour later Mario is in the middle of throwing together an impromptu overnight bag for the evening at Marco’s when his father knocks on the frame of his open door. Judging from the fact that he’s still wearing his suit, he came straight up to Mario’s flat after arriving home and Mario curses internally as he remembers his mother’s words from this morning. At the moment, the last thing he wants to do is talk to his father about anything, let alone the fact that he’s been ignoring his own manager’s calls like a petulant teenager. 

“Going somewhere?” his dad asks and Mario steels himself as he throws his bathroom kit into the open gym bag on his bed. 

“Yeah, Ann’s.”

His dad looks surprised. “Is that a good idea? You have a match tomorrow.” 

Biting down on his tongue in order not to grit his teeth, Mario gives a noncommittal shrug. His father can be overbearing, but he honestly means well and on most days Mario would laugh the remark off. But right now all he really wants is to get into his car and maybe violate the speed limit a little to get to Marco’s place. 

Luckily his father takes his silence for what it is. “Well, alright then. But I was hoping to talk to you, didn’t your mother tell you?” 

“She mentioned it,” Mario admits, knowing he wouldn’t get away with a lie. “But Dad, I’m already late for the meeting with Ann, can we talk tomorrow? After the game maybe?”

His father studies him for so long that Mario thinks he’s going to refuse and is already coming up with a rebuttal, when his dad suddenly nods and smiles, if a bit sadly. “Alright, son.” 

Relieved, Mario zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “You’re the best, Dad,” he grins as he slips past his father. 

“Mario?” 

Pausing on the stairs, Mario glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah?” 

“Try and hurry after the game. I- this is important.” 

Mario swallows, pushing away the guilt that nags at him for ignoring Volker’s calls for so long. “Sure, Dad.” 

*

Marco’s flat is filled with the unmistakable scent of cooking food when Mario unlocks the door and he takes a moment to deeply inhale as he drops his bag in the hallway and makes his way to the kitchen. There are two plates on the counter and the light from the oven paints warm lines along the mosaic tile floor, but Marco is nowhere to be seen. 

Upon closer inspection, the food turns out to be lasagna and Mario can’t help but raise an eyebrow as he bends down to peer through the oven glass. If Marco hasn’t taken a crash course on pasta preparation he never told Mario about, he must have made a detour on his way home to get them food from Vapiano, the best Italian place in the city. Either way, his best friend put an awful lot of effort into this meal. 

Mario straightens and startles badly when two arms sneak around his middle from behind, pulling him flush against an all too familiar broad chest. “ _Fuck_ , don’t do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

Marco buries his face in the crook of Mario’s neck and his chuckle is warm against his ear. “Hm, yes, what a surprise to meet me here. In my own home.” 

“Fuck _off_ , you know what I mean,” Mario grumbles and uses his elbows to get enough room to twist around in Marco’s arms. From this angle, his best friend’s eyes are very, very green and the stubble on his chin looks almost golden. Marco looks absolutely gorgeous and he makes a soft, almost surprised noise when Mario gets up on his toes to press a long, slow kiss to his mouth, savoring it for all the moments when he had wanted to do just this today, but hadn’t been able to. If Mario had his way, they wouldn’t have come up for air for a good while, but Marco slides a hand down from where he has them cupped around Mario’s face, pushes him back gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs into the space between them, knocking their foreheads together gently. “Hold on for a second.” 

Humming in mock contemplation, Mario slips a hand to the back of Marco’s neck, tries to pull him back into a kiss. “Let me think. No.” 

“Hey, stop,” Marco says, catching Mario’s hands in his own and pulling them up to his mouth to press kisses to his knuckles. He sounds so serious that Mario actually forgets to struggle. “Are you okay?” 

Mario blinks at him, honestly surprised. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You’ve been having a shit day,” Marco says quietly and his warm breath ghosts over Mario’s fingertips, makes him shiver. “And don’t bother denying it, because you are the worst liar in the whole world.” 

Mario is honestly at a loss what to say. Of course he’s always been aware that Marco has the ability to read him more easily than anyone else he’s ever come across, including his family. He _has_ had an awful day and hasn’t come close to fooling Marco otherwise, not even for a second. 

But the thing is, that right now? None of that matters anymore. Marco is warm and stupidly tall against him and just then, Mario can actually forget the whole mess this day and last night has been, Ann-Kathrin, Kevin, his parents, all of it. He’s here, he has Marco and all the stupid crap couldn’t be further away from this instant, when Marco has his arms around him and keeps the world with all its petty grievances at bay. It’s embarrassing in its naked dependency and Mario has no intention of admitting to it, ever, least of all to Marco. 

“I’m fine,” he says instead and when Marco doesn’t look convinced, he cups his jaw in his hand, strokes the stubble there. 

“Really,” Mario insists. “Never been better.” 

Marco’s grip on him is so tight that tipping his head back to kiss him almost gives Mario a crick in his neck, but he manages, gripping handfuls of Marco’s shirt as he pulls him closer. Thankfully Marco finally seems to get with the plan and Mario can feel him smile into the kiss, just the hint of rather pointy teeth on his bottom lip. He runs the tip of his tongue along his favorite one and then Marco is pushing him back, breaking the kiss to grab Mario and lift him onto the counter, sliding in between his now dangling legs seamlessly. Mario is opening his mouth to protest this rather undignified way of being manhandled, but Marco’s tongue is already back in his mouth, kissing the breath and objections right from his lips.   
From then on it’s a blur of wandering hands, sharp nips and soothing kisses and by the time they disentangle themselves from each other, flushed and breathless in the best possible way, a lot longer than the five minutes Marco mentioned earlier passed. 

“The food is going to burn,” Marco says and Mario groans, fisting his hands into the front of Marco’s shirt to try and pull him closer again. 

“No, it won’t. It’s lasagna, it’s a forgiving dish.” 

“For a while, maybe. At this point, I’m pretty sure we’re going to be eating cinderblocks.”

“Who cares,” Mario mutters, trying to get to Marco’s belt buckle, which is difficult, given their position. 

“I care. You didn’t have lunch, you need to eat.” 

Mario gives up his attempts and cocks his head, taking in Marco’s embarrassed, but determined expression and oh, this is too good. “Are you worried I might lose weight?”

Marco shakes his head, but there’s a guilty expression on his face and Mario once again marvels at the fact that his best friend actually finds his relationship with food to be endearing instead of off-putting. Mario has never suffered from low self-esteem, but there were times, especially as a teenager, when he wished for his body to be a bit more like the other boys’, whip thin statue and all. Marco’s open admiration of his body is a constant source of flattery and amusement for Mario. 

“Alright, dinner first,” he relents and can’t help but grin at the relieved expression on Marco’s face. 

As he slides off the counter and into Marco’s arms, Mario can’t resist taking one last shot and he easily palms Marco through his jeans. “You sure you can hold out that long?” 

Marco presses him back into the counter, pushing a thigh between Mario’s legs and against his half-hard cock. “I can if you can.” 

Well, Mario can never resist a good taunting, least of all when it comes from Marco. “Bring it on.” 

*

The lasagna is delicious, if a bit charred around the edges, and dinner is a thoroughly enjoyable affair, even though it takes them twice as long as usual due to the intense game of footsie underneath the kitchen table. Marco has an unfair advantage, since his legs are so much longer, but Mario has always possessed an uncommon amount of flexibility in his feet. As he runs his toes along the inseam of Marco’s jeans and watches him choke on his water, Mario finds that there are more uses for that particular talent than just neat tricks with a football. 

By the time they’re clearing the table, Mario is pretty sure that both of them are more than ready to pounce on each other, but Marco insists on loading the dishwasher first and Mario plays along, wiping down the table and filling the lasagna pan with water to soak overnight. When Marco puts the last dish away and turns around to look at him, Mario is leaning with his hip cocked against the counter, regarding him with all the faux innocence he’s capable of. 

“Dessert?” 

Marco makes an incoherent noise that is more growl than anything else and then he’s barreling into Mario, pressing them together from head to toe. “If you are not naked by the time we get to the bedroom, I will not be held responsible for my actions.” Marco’s voice is low and rough and it goes straight to Mario’s groin, makes the arousal simmering low in his belly spike and his voice go breathless. “Then what are we waiting for?” 

True to his word, Marco attempts to strip him on their way to the bedroom and it almost ends with both of them crashing straight through the milk glass door to the living room. By the time Mario drops back onto Marco’s bed, flushed and breathless with laughter, he’s only wearing his jeans and Marco is quick to divest him of those, crawling up and over Mario, who is sprawled on the thick, green duvet. 

Mario gasps as Marco bows his head to suck on his collarbone, blindly threading his fingers through the thick, blonde hair in front of him. His cock is so hard it _hurts_ and Marco, who hasn’t even taken his shirt off yet, is not helping matters. If Mario weren’t already too keyed up, he might care that he’s spread out naked beneath his still entirely clothed best friend, but as of now, he can’t really bring himself to. Marco is sucking his way up the side of his neck and he smells incredible, shampoo and expensive hair gel that Mario always makes fun of him for, mixing into a heady, strong scent that makes his mouth water. 

Finally, Marco kisses him, licking into Mario’s mouth in such a perfectly dirty manner that it makes his toes curl and when Marco shifts to press his thigh against his bare, sensitive cock, Mario actually _whimpers_. 

“Off,” he manages when Marco lets him come up for air and when Marco doesn’t immediately move, he starts pushing at his shoulders. “You, clothes, _off_!”

“Bossy,” Marco laughs but he’s finally moving, getting up on his knees and pulling off his clothes, tossing them onto the floor in an atypical display   
of messiness. If Mario had more than three brain cells left to care about these things, he might have been proud. But above him Marco is finally getting naked and _God_ , it’s a sight to behold. Marco is miles and miles of clear pale skin over visibly defined muscle, interrupted only by the stark lines of his tattoos curling along his arm and the thin, blonde trail of hair down from his navel. 

He sucks in a startled breath when Mario reaches out to run his hand through it, fingertips catching on the edge of Marco’s black briefs and pulling impatiently. Another tug and Marco’s dick springs free, flushed and hard and _perfect_ . The white-hot spike of arousal hitting him at the sight makes Mario groan and he grabs onto Marco’s hips and pulls him forward, scooting down to kiss the twitching muscles of his flat belly. Marco barely has time to catch himself with his hands on the mattress before Mario has his cock in his mouth and he hums in amusement at the bitten off curses his best friend is uttering. 

Mario has always liked sucking cock, the sheer power afforded by an act that, in of itself, couldn’t be more straightforward. He likes how he can observe the reactions caused by a simple flick of his tongue, the increase in friction as he hollows his cheeks and God, Marco is always so deliciously responsive like this, groaning and cursing and utterly at his mercy. Only when the choked off groans above him indicate that Marco is dangerously close to coming does Mario pull off, ignoring the muffled protest and pushing himself up the mattress until he’s facing Marco again.   
Never one to let an opportunity go to waste, Marco drops down from his braced position to slide in between Mario’s legs, rubbing their cocks together and nuzzling into Mario’s bared throat. Mario gasps at the unexpected friction and slips his hands down to grip Marco’s ass, pulling him closer. 

“Fuck me,” he mutters into Marco’s hair, at this point well past beyond caring how wanton he sounds. 

Surprisingly Marco doesn’t react the way he usually does to that offer, instead raising his head and meeting Mario’s gaze hesitantly. “Sunny…” 

Mario frowns. “What?” 

“I…the match tomorrow,” Marco mutters and just when Mario is about to ask him what that has to do with anything, he gets it. Fuck. Being gay and a professional footballer has more than one downside and this is apparently just another that Mario has been lucky enough to avoid so far. Marco and he usually don’t spend the night together right before a match day and Mario is confident enough in his abilities that he can make it through practice just fine, even if the activities the preceding night have been a bit strenuous on his anatomy. A match however, is a different matter entirely.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says with feeling and groans when he realizes that Marco is still peering at him with that stupidly concerned face of his. 

“It’s _fine_ ,” Mario says and even to his own ears his words sound waspish. Marco’s mouth is twitching and if he dares to laugh right now, Mario will knee him in the balls, no questions asked. Luckily for Marco, he gets himself under control, staring at Mario with a contemplative look before patting his hip and moving off of him. 

“Roll over.” 

Mario blinks. “What?” 

“Roll over,” Marco repeats and there’s something in his tone that makes the fine hair at the back of Mario’s neck prickle and stand on end. 

He swallows and does as he’s told, sucking in a breath as his sensitive cock rubs against the cool sheets beneath him. Then his best friend is on top of him again, cock pushing against Mario’s ass as he kisses the top of his spine and then lower, trailing kisses down between Mario’s shoulder blades and into the small of his back. 

It’s nice, his weight almost soothing and Mario arches his back into the soft caress of Marco’s mouth, the gentle scrape of his stubble against his spine. The motion rubs his cock against the mattress and he sighs in satisfaction, trying to move his hips in spite of Marco’s firm grasp.   
Marco has trailed a path all the way down his back and one of his palms is resting on Mario’s ass now, cupping him almost absent-mindedly. Right as Mario is about to ask him what the hell is going on, Marco’s tongue is on his skin again and this time, he doesn’t stop at the bottom of his spine. Mario gasps as Marco licks into him, the shock not enough to distract him from the searing wave of arousal flooding his system, pulling his muscles tight and making his skin prickle. 

“Marco, what-“ 

“Shhh, relax. I thought you might like this better than a blow job.” 

“Like _what_ better?” Mario manages to get out, because honestly, what the hell does Marco think he’s doing? Mario has been down this path for a hell of a lot longer than his best friend has and he’s never even _contemplated_ what Marco is suggesting.

The sheer intimacy is enough to make him squirm and Mario is about to tell him to knock it off, only Marco is too quick for him, warm breath the only warning before a warm tongue is slipping down his crack again, running over the sensitive skin of his hole and pushing inside. The noise Mario makes is entirely involuntary, but Marco takes it as approval, pinning him with an arm across the small of his back and shifting to get into a better position. 

Mario’s cock feels incredibly heavy between his legs, his balls drawn up and tight against his body. Every lick of Marco’s tongue sends spasms running through his legs and up his spine and God, he can’t help the noises pouring out of him, whimpers and mewls that tear at the back of his throat. He’s been undone during sex with Marco before, but this is something else entirely.

In the next few minutes Marco takes him apart with his mouth, licking him sloppy and wet, fucking him with his tongue until Mario is crying for him to finish him off. When Marco takes pity on him and slips a hand between his legs, it only takes two strokes for Mario to come into his palm and the strength of his orgasm whitens his vision, makes him only faintly aware that Marco is sliding up to rub his cock against the curve of his ass, coming all over the back of his thighs after a few thrusts. 

When he finally feels coherent enough to roll onto his side, Marco has already returned from the bathroom with a warm washcloth, wiping the mess off his thighs and curling up alongside Mario. He smells faintly of toothpaste and Mario can feel even more heat rising to his cheeks as his mind catches up to why exactly Marco might have wanted to brush his teeth. 

Marco’s gaze is on him and Mario burrows into his side to avoid his eyes, relaxing a little when Marco wraps an arm around him. 

“You okay?” Marco’s voice is low and hoarse, the way it always gets after sex and even though it’s one of Mario’s favorite things in the entire world to listen to, right now he could do without it. If Marco actually thinks Mario is going to talk about what just happened, he is clearly insane. His jerky nod is met with a soft exhale that could almost be a sigh, but Mario doesn’t look up to see if he’s right. He doesn’t think he can meet Marco’s eyes right now, not without being able to hide his embarrassment. 

Whether or not Marco knows that, he doesn’t make Mario get up; draws slow, intricate patterns on his hip and back instead, both of them dozing in companionable silence alongside each other. Mario is nearly asleep when Marco speaks next and his words take a couple of seconds to filter through the soft haze his mind is already slipping into. 

“Eintracht tomorrow.” 

“Hm.” Mario lets a couple of seconds pass, groping to pull the sheets around them, only now feeling the chill in the bedroom cooling the sweat on their naked skin. “We’ll win.” 

Marco laughs softly, the motion a gentle rise and fall beneath Mario’s cheek. “Oh, yeah? How do you know?” 

“Just a feeling,” Mario mumbles and if Marco gives a reply, he’s already too far gone to hear it, finally slipping off into sleep with the soothing sound of Marco’s heartbeat in his ears. 

*

“Mario!” 

Mario jerks a little at his trainer’s sharp tone, blinking as the locker room swims back into focus around him. Next to him Lewy has gone tense and a quick glance to the side confirms that half the team is staring at him, the expressions on their faces varying from amused to pitying. Mario blinks. 

“Yes, coach?” 

“Would you care to repeat what I just said?” Kloppo says, his voice deceptively calm. 

Mario isn’t fooled. While Mario and Marco were busy with other things last night Bayern has won their game and so today their coach is on the warpath. With Kloppo, the rule of thumb is that the quieter he gets, the more dangerous he is. Most players learned that the hard way after taking his easygoing demeanor for sloppiness or a lack of attention to detail. Mario however, has never underestimated their coach a day in his life and he isn’t planning on starting today. 

“Attack Rode when he’s on the ball, let Ilkay steer from the midfield, play Marco when he’s on the run,” he recites dutifully and fights to keep his innocent expression as a low murmur goes around the locker room. 

Kloppo narrows his eyes at him, obviously not fooled by his little display. His coach knows Mario wasn’t paying full attention, but the tiny nod he gives him is proof that he’s willing to let it slide for now. Mario makes sure to not take his eyes of their coach for a second for the rest of their instructions and when Kloppo leaves, he breathes a silent sigh of relief. 

“Dude,” Kevin says as they walk out into the tunnel and the crowd outside starts to cheer at the sight of them on the screen. “That was some ninja skill level just now. I thought you were toast, you looked totally zoned out.” 

“I’ll say,” Ilkay chimes in, catching up to them. “I could have sworn you weren’t listening. Mad multi-tasking skills, bro.” 

“I wasn’t,” Mario admits and scoffs at their scandalized expressions. “Oh, please! He’s been giving us the same speech for four days now; it wasn’t that hard to extrapolate.” 

“Götze,” Kevin says and now there’s a hint of admiration in his voice. “You might look like a tenth grader, but you have balls of steel, my man.” 

Mario is spared an answer, because they’re lining up, shuffling to keep their kids at their side. Marco is right in front of him and when they jog out onto the pitch Mario has to hurry to keep up with his best friend’s long-legged strides. It still cheers Mario up to see him there and when they line up next to Frankfurt’s players, he can’t resist knocking their shoulders together, which earns him a crooked grin. 

When they wish each other luck for the game, Marco saves him for last as usual and Mario is slightly mortified at how much that little gesture still thrills him, gives him butterflies in his stomach that aren’t even rivalled be the sight of the _Süd_ in full support mode. A long whistle by the referee and they’re off, Mario forcing himself to concentrate as his instincts take over and the fierce joy of once again being able to do the thing he loves most in the world flooding through him. 

It’s a good night and the team is sharp and alert, quick to attack the ball and run their counterattacks. Frankfurt is holding up well at first, but after eight minutes they leave Mario with room to maneuver and he chips the ball over the defense right into Marco’s run, who sinks the ball into the back of the net easily. Lukasz and Oli are the first to hug him, but Marco shrugs out of their embrace to jog towards Mario, blowing him a kiss right before he folds him into his arms. 

“That was brilliant,” he mutters into his ear and Mario laughs, trying to hide how much his best friend’s compliments still fluster him sometimes. He knows he’s great at what he does, but Marco’s praise still gets to him like nothing else. 

It’s their night and once again, he and Marco are at the center of attention, easily guessing where the other will run and passing the ball between them like it’s nothing. Marco scores two more times and Mario assists him on the final goal, outsmarting two defenders and flicking the ball to Marco with the tip of his foot at the last possible second. 

It’s absolutely brilliant and when a beaming Marco slings an arm around him, Mario raises his eyes to the night sky for a second, watching the faint glimmer of the emerging stars above the Signal-Iduna-Park. With the fans’ roar in his ears and Marco pressed close to his side, Mario can’t help but think that he wants to do this always, stretch this moment into eternity and make it last forever. The irony of that won’t be lost on him later. 

*

Seeing his manager sitting at his parents’ dining room table isn’t entirely surprising, Mario supposes, but it still gives him pause, a quick rush of guilt as he looks at Volker’s tanned face and remembers all those ignored calls. His dad and Volker both glance up as Mario enters the room and if he hasn’t known that something serious was going on before ( _but you did_ , a tiny voice whispers, _deep down, you did_ ), their expressions now are really the only clue he needs. 

“Mario!” Volker says and he looks almost giddy with excitement, which is such an odd look on him that it takes a lot of effort on Mario’s part not to stare. “Sit down, sit down! Coffee?” 

“Er, no,” Mario says, sliding into one of the chairs facing the two of them. “I’m good, thanks.” 

“Maybe something else? A beer?” 

What the _fuck_. Mario tries hard not to openly boggle at the offer, but knows he isn’t doing a very good job when Volker gives him a conspiratorial wink. Mario has never seen anything more disturbing in his entire _life_ and honestly, what the hell is happening here? 

“Dad?” he asks and hates the way his tone comes out pleading. “What’s going on?” 

His father takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes and for a second a cold rush of panic runs through Mario, because is his dad _crying_? But when his father finally looks at him he’s smiling, despite the suspicious shine in his eyes. 

“Volker got a call from Munich, son. Bayern has made an offer for you.”

“Well, don’t say it like that!” Volker bursts out, like he’s barely managed to hold back until now. “It’s not just an offer, it’s an invitation served on a silver platter! They’re dying to get their hands on you, kiddo! If you hear the conditions they’re offering us, you’ll keel right over!”

“Oh?” Mario manages and knows it’s a response lacking in fervor, can’t really help it. He feels disconnected, like he’s watching the scene unfold from afar and his ears are filled with a buzz that makes everything Volker is saying sound like he’s speaking through a thick wall of cotton. 

“…make twice as much money as you are now, if not more! Details have to be talked about of course, but let me tell you, they are _very_ open to negotiating terms, I’ve never experienced anything like it before, if I’m honest! Their new genius must have lit a fire under their asses.” 

This, finally, gets Mario’s attention. “What? What does that-”

“Apparently,” his dad interjects and his calm tone is a stark contrast to Volker’s almost frantic chatter. “Guardiola has asked for you personally. He wants you on the team.” 

Both of them are watching Mario now and he wants to give them some sort of acknowledgement that he’s heard them, realizes what this means for his career, but all he manages is to open his mouth and then shut it again, at a loss for words. 

“He’s speechless!” Volker proclaims happily, chuckling and patting Mario’s shoulder good-naturedly. “Anyone would be, kiddo. This is huge!”

“Yeah,” Mario croaks, the words like sandpaper in his throat. “You could say that.” 

“Maybe we should save this conversation for another day,” his dad says and continues quickly when Volker opens his mouth to protest. “This is a lot to digest. I think it’s only fair to at least let Mario sleep on it, before we continue to talk about this.” 

His father looks harmless, but Mario knows the core of steel that runs through him and Volker must sense it, too, because he doesn’t argue further, getting up and taking his leave with little fuss, not forgoing to pull Mario into a bone-crushing hug before he goes. 

“This is amazing news, kid. You should be proud.” 

“Thanks,” Mario says automatically, watching his dad compliment his manager out the door numbly. 

His brain still feels like someone has pushed him through a mirror and into a parallel universe, everything different and yet the same in a strange, disorienting manner. He barely notices sitting back down but when his dad comes back he’s still at the dining room table, staring at the polished wood in front of him with unseeing eyes. 

“So,” his dad says, sitting down heavily in the chair next to Mario and peering at him closely. “What do you think?” 

Mario raises an eyebrow. “What happened to giving me a night to sleep on it?” he demands and his dad gives him an incredulous look. 

“You know full well I only said that to get rid of him,” he says drily and Mario grins weakly. “Honestly, what do you think?” 

“I really don’t know,” Mario admits and doesn’t think he’s ever said anything truer than that. Ever since his father uttered those words, his mind seems to have ceased even attempting to work properly. 

“It’s big news,” his dad agrees carefully. 

“I mean,” Mario begins, trying hard to filter through the haze in his brain. “This was never the plan.” 

“No,” his father says quietly. “But plans can change.” 

Mario blinks at that. He’s always counted on his family and his father especially in helping him steer his career, to manage the pitfalls and curveballs thrown at you in the professional football business. A couple of years ago they agreed that Mario would stay in Dortmund until at least after the World Cup next year, use his performance in Brazil as a bargaining chip for extending his contract and negotiating better terms with the club. There have been offers from other clubs over the years of course, but nothing ever this serious. 

“What do _you_ think?” he asks his dad and is surprised when his father hesitates for a moment.

“What?” 

“Maybe you really should sleep on it first,” his dad says uncertainly. “I don’t want to-“ 

“No, Dad, come on,” Mario interrupts him, feeling oddly unnerved. “I can’t go to sleep without knowing what you think about this. Please.” He adds, knowing full well that it’s going to crack his father’s resolve.

“Alright,” his dad says slowly, looking at his folded hands on the table before meeting Mario’s eyes again. “To be honest, I think it’s too soon for you to leave. If you take this offer now, you might find yourself fighting to get play time with people more experienced and established than you are.” His dad smiles, a bit sadly. “You are still so young, Mario. There will be plenty of offers in your career. In Dortmund, you know you’ll have a spot on the team. In a year, we’ll have more than enough time to talk about this again.”

Mario nods mechanically; his head feeling like a puppet’s being jerked back and forth on a string. His dad is watching him with worried eyes and it makes him look older than he is, almost worn out. Mario hates seeing him like that. He forces a smile that feels weird on his face, but he manages. 

“I think you’re right,” he says and feels instant relief as the words leave his mouth. He hasn’t even noticed how tense his whole body has been until now. “Leaving now would be a mistake.” 

His father’s expression is hopeful, if a bit weary. “Mario, you should sleep on this. I really shouldn’t have said anything-“ 

“No, I’m glad you did,” Mario interrupts him quickly. He doesn’t think he can stand seeing his father look so contrite and all he really wants is to go upstairs and put a pillow over his head, make the flittering rush of thoughts slow down, if only for a while. 

“And I don’t need more time to decide. Dortmund is where I belong. We have a plan and…we should stick to it,” he finishes, returning the smile that is slowly spreading on his father’s face. Instead of answering right away, his dad gets up and rounds the table, leaning down to press a kiss to Mario’s forehead, something he hasn’t done in ages. 

“I’ve got to say, I’m glad,” his father says softly. “I’m really proud of you, Mario.” 

“Thanks,” Mario replies and this time he even means it. If there is a tiny sting in his chest that feels faintly like disappointment, he ignores it, agreeing quickly when his father suggests making a run to the store to get some champagne to toast the matter. They have something to celebrate after all. 

*

“This is the ugliest kitchen I have ever seen in my entire life.” 

“Ann,” Mario hisses, glancing around quickly to make sure the real estate agent isn’t near. “Would you keep it down?” 

Ann-Kathrin gives him an unimpressed look. “Why? Unless she’s been declared legally blind that should even be obvious to someone who advertised these floors as teak, when they’re clearly made of pine.” She knocks the heel of her stiletto against the ground as if to emphasize her words. 

“For God’s sake,” Mario mutters, mortified when the real estate agent rounds the corner, the frozen smile on her face making it obvious that she overheard them. 

“Do you have any more questions about the property?” 

Mario steps on Ann’s foot before she can open her mouth and she slams her elbow into his side in retaliation. Suppressing a wince, Mario gives the real estate agent his best fake smile. “Actually, could you give us a few more minutes? We’d just really like to get a feel for this place.” 

The woman nods and the icy expression on her face thaws somewhat in the face of Mario’s smile. 

“Absolutely. Take as long as you need, Herr Götze.” She picks up her purse, but hesitates on her way out the door. “I just need to tell you, I’m a huge fan. My husband and I saw the game last night and you were wonderful! I’m so glad you’re looking into staying for good.” 

“Suck-up,” Ann-Kathrin mutters under her breath and Mario coughs loudly, plastering on another fake smile. He’s going to _murder_ Ann. 

“Yes, thank you! That, er, means a lot to me,” he says and breathes out a sigh of relief when the real estate agent leaves the room, not without a cool parting glance towards Ann-Kathrin. 

“Ann, what the hell,” he explodes once she’s gone, turning to glare at his friend who gives him a blank stare in return. “Do you have to be so rude?” 

“I don’t like liars,” Ann says flatly. “And she’s overcharging you for what she’s shown us so far.” 

Mario groans, tossing the stack of brochures onto the marble counter top in front of them. It is nearly three in the afternoon and this is the fourth flat they’ve looked at today, a beautiful loft in the center of Dortmund with two bedrooms and a gorgeous roof terrace. He’s tired and hungry and kind of imagined this to go more smoothly.

“She’s one of the best real estate agents in the area.” 

“Certainly the most expensive,” Ann-Kathrin says drily and Mario has to seriously pull himself together in order not to toss the brochures at her head. 

“Could you at least try and add something helpful? I’m getting tired of your attitude to be honest,” he snaps and instantly knows he’s made a mistake when Ann turns to glare at him. 

“Excuse me?” 

Mario sighs. “That didn’t come out right. I-“ 

“No,” she cuts him off, crossing her arms decisively and flicking her hair over one shoulder. “It certainly didn’t. You drag me all over town to look at apartments without warning, won’t let me have lunch because Miss-Stick-Up-Her-Butt over there is in a hurry and now you’re giving me attitude?” 

Fuck. Now he just feels like an asshole. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, running a helpless hand through his hair. “No, I really am. That was stupid of me. Just…tell me what you think of this place? Then we can go grab something to eat. I’m buying.” 

“Yeah, you definitely are,” Ann says firmly, but relents when he gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Oh, fine. I guess it will look alright, if you just remodel the bathrooms entirely and tear out that hideous tile in the kitchen.” 

Mario snorts, genuinely amused by her pickiness. People have called him spoiled before, but he has nothing on Ann-Kathrin. “Nothing major then.”   
Ann raises an eyebrow. “Well, what do _you_ think?” 

Mario glances around, taking in the bright interior, Dortmund’s skyline visible through the big glass doors, despite the foggy weather. “I like it.” 

“Hm,” Ann says and he glances over at her. 

“What?” 

She raises one angora-clad shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I guess I just don’t understand why you’re in such a rush. Ever since you got that offer last week, it’s like you’re trying to make everything happen all at once. Why do you even want to move out of your parents’ place?” 

For a moment, Mario hesitates. But, well. It’s not like she won’t find out later on anyway. “They want to build me a house.” 

She blinks. “Excuse me?” 

Mario sighs, pulling himself up to sit on the counter. “They’re talking about buying this lot in their neighborhood, for me to build a house there. And I just figured, while that’s going on, I might as well try and strike out on my own for a bit. You know, get a place where I’m not in constant danger of my mom popping over to bring me my dry-cleaning.” 

He chuckles, but Ann doesn’t join in, instead staring at him with an expression he can’t quite put his finger on.  
“From the way you’re talking about it, it doesn’t really seem like you want them to do any of that,” she says slowly. 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Mario frowns. “It’s fine. I just want a little independence first.” 

“Independence,” Ann repeats. “Right.” 

Oh for fuck’s sake. Mario hates it when she gets pulls that cryptic bullshit. “If you’ve got something to say, say it!” 

“Come on, Mario! Look around you. Why do you think you picked this apartment out of all the ones we saw today?” She snorts when he stays silent.   
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice that the only place you like just happens to be the one that’s within walking distance of his flat?”

“That’s just- I don’t…what?” he splutters and hates the knowing glance she gives him. “This is so not about Marco! Why do you always have to bring him into these things?”

“Because he’s all you ever really think about,” she fires back. “Don’t tell me that when you decided to stay in Dortmund he wasn’t the biggest factor, because I will laugh in your face!” 

“Bullshit,” Mario says heatedly, hating that his cheeks are flushing, like he’s feeling caught out or something. “I’m not staying here for Marco, I’m staying because-“ 

“Yes?” She looks at him expectantly and he shakes his head, trying to clear it. 

“This is my home,” Mario says and it sounds defensive even to his own ears. “I belong here. Of course I want to stay, why you would even ask me that?” 

“Because I don’t think anyone else is,” Ann says quietly. “And I think someone ought to.” 

Mario stares at her in shock, fighting the quick flush of panic running through him at her words. “Of course I want to stay,” he repeats and pushes away the low whisper in his head he’s been successfully ignoring for more than a week now. The one that gets louder on those nights alone, when there’s nothing to keep his thoughts from wandering where they definitely shouldn’t. 

Ann looks at him for so long that Mario is seriously starting to get uncomfortable, trying not to squirm under her scrutiny. “I’m going to say something now that you might hate me for,” she says, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I think you should consider that offer.” 

Mario opens his mouth and she raises her hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Just…let me finish, please. I’m not trying to tell you not to stay here. If it’s really what you want, then I’ll be the first in line to support that decision.” Her eyes are incredibly serious as she looks at him. “All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t make it based on what your parents think is best for you. Or with someone in mind that might not be able to give you what you want from them.” 

Mario is at a loss. A part of him resents Ann for outright questioning him, because he does not want to think, let alone talk about this. Maybe Ann senses it, too, because she bites down on her lip, approaching him slowly and putting a hand on top of his tight-knuckled grip on the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, squeezing his fingers before grabbing her purse, as she casts one last critical glance around the loft. “You were right though. This place is nice.” She pats his arm as she brushes past him. 

“I didn’t tell him,” Mario blurts out and the clicks of her heels stop as she pauses on her way out the door. “Marco, I mean. I didn’t tell him about the offer.” 

“Well,” Ann-Kathrin says and the expression on her face is entirely too understanding. “Maybe there’s a reason for that.” 

*

The next few days are a rush of training, talking to his parents about the properties they’re looking at and secretly asking his real estate agent to give him more options than the flats she’s shown him so far. Mario doesn’t ask Ann-Kathrin to come along again and avoids her calls to the point that his mother shows concern for their relationship, but it’s probably better this way. He doesn’t think he could cope with anymore of Ann’s questions for now, the talk with her has shaken him enough as it is. Despite his best intentions to forget all about it, her words come back to him time and time again, worming their way into his thoughts unbidden and entirely unwelcome. 

Mario tries to distract himself as best as he knows how, with training and Marco and it helps, for a while. Due to his recent falling out with Ann, he has more time for his best friend than he did before and although Marco doesn’t bring the topic up again after Mario asks him not to, Mario can tell that his best friend is pleased at the development. They get along better than ever and it almost feels like it did before the winter break, when there was still no fake girlfriend and the resulting tension between them. 

Training is going great as well and the team seems to click on the pitch, working together like a well-oiled machine. They continue their winning streak in the Bundesliga by triumphing in the Revierderby and the only damper on everyone’s resulting good mood is that Bayern is winning as well, marching on ahead of them. Still, given their past history and their team’s continued success when coming head to head with Munich’s club, everyone is optimistic about their chances in the upcoming Pokal game. 

It’s a tight match and it’s obvious how much the last six losses against them have eaten away at Bayern’s pride. They’re clawing for every ball, going to the limit in every second and Mario and the others have a hard time to keep up with them at first, not least of all because Mats is missing due to a cold. Towards the end of the first half they’re just starting to regain their confidence, when Robben does what he does best and the ball sails past Roman into the net. The second half is tighter and Bayern is lucky not to see a red card when Martínez fouls Lewy, but they just can’t seem to get their goal. Marco nearly succeeds once, but his shot misses by inches and none of the others is any luckier that night. Afterwards, the tension in the locker room is almost tangible and Kloppo leaves them after a few, short words that only poorly mask his disappointment. 

“Shit,” Ilkay says with feeling after the door falls shut behind their coach and Mario thinks that pretty much sums up their night. 

“Well,” Kevin grits out and it’s the first thing he’s said since the final whistle nearly half an hour earlier. “Who is ready to get incredibly drunk tonight?” 

*

“Mario!” 

Mario turns to see Mats weaving his way through the thick crowd in the packed pub towards where he’s standing at the bar. He gives his friend a weary grin. “Look who crawled out of bed to join the festivities.” 

Mats gives their surroundings a doubting glance. “If you can call it that. Maybe the fever medication is making me hallucinate, but I think I just saw Kevin cry.” 

“Oh, no, that’s real,” Mario assures him. “So far he’s dividing his time between crying and making up a song by only using the words ‘bastards’ and ‘Bayern’.” 

“Jeez,” Mats mutters, watching as Mario knocks back the shot he just received from the bartender. “I take it you fled?” 

“Sometime around the second verse, yes,” Mario confirms and coughs at the burning taste of the alcohol in his throat. He’s not sure he wants to know what he just consumed, but it sure does the trick. 

“How many of those have you had?” Mats asks carefully and Mario snorts. 

“Just the one. You would not believe how slow the service is. Just as well, I suppose. Otherwise we might have to get Felipe’s and Lewy’s stomachs pumped later.” 

“You’re too young to know this much about alcohol poisoning, kid,” Mats grumbles. “Where’s Marco?” 

Mario waves a hand over his shoulder. “Back there somewhere, with Ilkay and Nuri. I said I would get us shots.” The truth is, he was glad to leave them behind. As much as Mario hates losing, all the rants against Bayern turn his stomach, given recent events. Even Marco joined in and Mario quickly took the opportunity to escape. 

“Let’s go find them,” Mats suggest and the gentle pressure on Mario’s shoulder leaves no room for argument. Apparently his friend is worried that Mario might actually get drunk on cheap shots and end up throwing in a gutter somewhere. Not entirely impossible, Mario has to admit. It seems kind of appealing just now. 

“There they are!” Mats exclaims suddenly, sounding relieved. Then he chuckles. “Looks like they’ve found something to console themselves with.” 

When Mario follows his gaze, his stomach turns and unfortunately, it has nothing to do with the alcohol. Ilkay, Nuri and Marco are crowded into the booth at the corner of the pub where he left them, but they’re not on their own anymore. They’ve been joined by a group of girls, who from the looks of it have brought a tequila bottle and lime wedges along to the party with them. 

As Mario watches, a blonde, petite girl takes the saltshaker, emptying nearly half of the contents onto the back of her hand before offering it to Marco, who is sitting right next to her. Marco, clearly more than tipsy, sways into her as he licks the salt from her hand to the cheers and laughter from the others, before knocking back a shot. The girl laughs along with her friends, clapping a coughing Marco on the back and letting her hand linger on his shoulder afterwards as she smiles at him. Even at this distance, Mario can categorize the smile Marco gives her in return. It’s the one he sometimes directs at Mario, when they’re in bed together. 

Next to him Mats is still chuckling and he only stops when Mario pushes past him, back towards where they came from. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I need some air,” Mario says, the words nearly unintelligible in his haste to get them out, but he can’t worry about that now. He needs to get out of here. Behind him he can hear Mats calling his name, but Mario pretends he doesn’t hear him, shouldering his way through the crowd towards the exit as quickly as he can manage. 

*

It’s almost March, but the night air is still freezing and when Mario climbs the fence to the training grounds and lands easily on the other side, the grass crunches beneath his feet as he walks out onto the field. Around him, the whole area is dipped in darkness, but in the distance he can see the yellow glow from Signal-Iduna-Park, like a beacon calling to him with its familiar sight. He walks until he arrives at the other side of the training pitch, sitting down cross-legged against one of the goal posts and ignoring the way the wet ground soaks the seat of his jeans. 

He once told Marco the guards would let him onto the training grounds even at such an ungodly hour, but Mario hasn’t even tried, instead driving straight from the pub to the parking lot his parents used to drop him off at when he was a kid and scaling the fence once the night guard had come through. The grass he’s sitting on is more familiar to him than even his own bedroom back home. After all, he spent nearly his entire childhood and a big part of his adult life on these grounds. 

It’s fitting, Mario thinks, that his way has led him here tonight. The surroundings here give him peace in a way few places can manage anymore and if there’s one thing he needs right now, it’s peace. Mario runs his fingers through the grass until his fingertips go numb and tries to imagine how many times he’s walked on this ground in his life. A thousand? More than that? He doesn’t suppose he’ll ever know and somehow, there’s something reassuring in that. 

I could start counting now, he thinks and that part is easier to imagine, the next years stretching out ahead with easy familiarity in his mind. Playing under Kloppo and with the team, Kevin and Mats and Nuri. Maybe not with Ilkay or Lewy, if they got better offers, but most of them. His friends. His teammates. Getting up in the morning and coming to train here, like he has done his whole life. Play in Signal-Iduna, the roar of the _Süd_ calling his name, like he has his whole life. Wear his club’s crest and colors, like he has his whole life. _Staying with Marco_. Maybe not forever, but for a while longer at least. Until Marco met the girl that would give him the children his best friend wants so desperately. 

His phone feels warm in his hand and the bright screen shows that it’s nearly midnight. He has three missed calls from Mats and two from Marco and Mario quickly deletes them before scrolling through his contacts, almost all the way to the bottom. It’s late, but not indecently so and he only hesitates for a moment before hitting the call button. 

His call gets picked up only after a few rings and he exhales in a rush, only now realizing he has been holding his breath. 

“Hey, Volker. It’s Mario. Listen, I’m sorry to be calling so late, but this is pretty urgent.” He swallows once and takes a deep breath. “I need you to call Munich and tell them I’ve reconsidered. I want to accept their offer.” 

~

**Author's Note:**

> If you would be so kind to leave feedback in the form of kudos or comments, that would be absolutely amazing <3 On the days when the story just won't write itself, it's a tremendous help to stay motivated.


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